Guys going by the hut all day, and now and then I hear someone say, yeah, listen to him copy that stuff…Only guy on the base that can copy it and he’s only a seaman. That’s the Navy for yuh—Ad infinitum—lots of fun.—August 13, 1945
Good news!” I hollered as I burst through Dad’s front door.
Dad was in his usual place in the living room. I sat across from him, plopping my purse down on the floor and the notebook on my lap. I opened the notebook and then did my best Vanna White impression, sweeping the valuable merchandise with one hand.
“You know what this is?” I asked. “This is a typewritten letter!”
I had finally reached the letter dated April 29, 1945, and was ready to celebrate. After months of deciphering my father’s tiny handwriting, I had made it to the first of the typed letters.
“Well,” he said. “Now you won’t need me at all. It’ll be smooth sailing from here on out.”
I got up and put the notebook on his lap.
“Well,” I said, “I wouldn’t say that I won’t need you now. I’ll just be able to read the letters without needing you to decipher the words for me. But I still need you to decipher their meaning.”
“Meaning, huh?” he said suspiciously. “I didn’t sign up for that. What’re you going to do with all this anyway?”
“Well, it started out with me just transcribing the letters so I could give a copy to each of the kids. But now, I want to tell the whole story, like fill in the blanks where the letters leave off.”
“So you’re adding more details,” my father said.
“Yeah, something like that,” I replied.
“What do you want me to do with this?” He lifted the notebook slightly.
“Read it,” I said.
“Oh, I’m not going to do any such thing. Who cares anyway? It’s just a bunch of letters,” he said.
“But now they’re easy to read. Thank God for the invention of the typewriter,” I joked.
“Well, just because I can read them doesn’t mean I want to,” he said.
He closed the notebook and held it out.
I took it from his hands, a bit bewildered. I thought he would have enjoyed reading his letters at that point. Even though he seemed to have an aversion to them, I thought that maybe if the reading was easier, he’d be compelled to read them. He was a compulsive reader, after all. But he would have none of it.
“So, it looks like you somehow got to a typewriter. How did you manage that?” I asked.
He sat back in his chair.
“When they released me from the hospital,” he began, “I started my office job. I think I actually got the job before I went to Okinawa, but I’m not sure.”
He was relaxed. These memories came easily to him. There was no struggle or hesitation. I put the notebook in my backpack and sat back too.
“They put me in a place called Flag Detachment. That’s where all the top brass were. I remember I kept being amazed when I’d see someone like Admiral Nimitz just walking down the hall. I tried to pretend that it was no big deal, but it was. I suppose it was an honor to be trusted to work there, but I figured even the top brass needed peons like me to type their letters and sweep their floors. Most of the time, those bigwigs weren’t in the office at all anyway. It was in Naval Intelligence but there wasn’t much to do with that once I returned from Okinawa.”
“Did anyone talk to you about Okinawa? I mean, once you got the office job?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “I always wondered if everyone knew or not. I thought maybe they were watching me to see if I’d lose it or something.”
“So what was your job there?” I asked. “What did you do on a daily basis?”
He laughed.
“Well, for one thing, I had lots of spare time to write letters. Everyone I worked with did that. I was in a small office. The commander was right across the desk from me. He had a yeoman, which is like a secretary, who he dictated letters to all day. Well, one day the yeoman was sick so he had to settle for me. And for some reason I was able to dictate as fast as he could speak. So when the Yeoman returned, he fired him and kept me.”
“What else did you do, besides take dictation from the commander?” I asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. Nothing really,” he said. “The war was really winding down.”
He was right about that. His next letter, dated May 7, was V-E Day (Victory in Europe). Although he had yet to see an effect on the war in the Pacific, he was aware of what was going on elsewhere in the war.
May 7, 1945
Dear Folks,
No wise cracks about our railroad club, Mom. Everyone I told about it, suggested we line up some chairs around the room and play train.
The bank statement arrived and I just can’t figure where all my thousands disappeared to. My treasurer made some poor investments no doubt. Oh well, easy come easy go.
Speaking of do-re-me, I have a total sum of 53 bucks now. I got paid as per usual a couple of days ago and added the sum to the pocketbook balance. Then a wild day of spending on liberty yesterday and I ended up with the aforementioned amount. Pretty good for a mere seaman. Don’t tell anyone but maybe I’ll save up enough to get the flivver painted by the time the war is over.
And speaking of war over—this is a momentous day I suppose. No one seems very excited over here tho. The European situation seems so remote from ours that it’s just another battle to us. The war over here is big as life and looks very promising to last on for quite a while yet. No one seems to be celebrating at all and no one even mentions it in conversation. FDR and Ernie Pyles death were the important news as far as we were concerned. It’s sure swell to have that much of it over now tho. Maybe things will shape up faster over here from now on. I sure hope so. I’d like to spend Christmas at home.
It’s funny about mentioning exactly where you are. People usually guess sooner or later and probably someone right across the bay from me can say all he wants about the place in his letters but the censors here have strict orders to cut out any mention of the place in letters here so out it comes. But anyway you guess exactly where I am so it doesn’t matter much anyway.
Well, when I get a leave now, I can fly right in to Walla Walla. That will really be swell. That is if some general doesn’t bump me off and make me hitch-hike.
Well I don’t want to make too much of a good thing. I seem to be getting more letters nowadays than when I was writing three a day. Guess I’d better get busy and answer a few for a change before they suddenly stop altogether.
Write. Love, Murray